A week later—I knew it was a week because Chrissie made a point of telling us, as though we should feel grateful we'd been left alone that long—we were brought to the glass arena. It was the room I'd been in my first night here, the room where Joe had saved my life. It was the room where we were given a chance to save Mary's life.
We were ordered to perform. We had to make it good. The three of us, together.
They wanted to see me with Mary, Joe with both of us. Cyrus carefully explained this before he left us there.
Behind the glass were hordes of people, sitting row upon row, rapt attention all on us. They were dressed in all styles, from medieval to modern and everything in-between. Somehow, I could sense what they were, each and every one of them. They were just like the creatures who tormented us. There were so many of them. Our situation had never looked more hopeless.
We'd all been given special outfits for our performance. Joe had ripped jeans and a leather jacket, this one lacking the restraints of the one Cyrus usually compelled him to wear. He looked sexy as hell, his broad chest framed nicely by the leather. The jeans and his freshly shaved head gave him a badass look. The kind of bad boy appeal most women drool over enveloped him, and, even in my fear, I couldn't help but feel a little weak-kneed myself, just observing him as he defiantly glared at the crowd.
I would have been even more impressed if I didn't know Cyrus had ordered him to do put on the act.
I was dressed in a long green gown that matched my eyes. While Chrissie had worked on my hair in an opulent room I was sure was hers, I'd had the chance, finally, to see myself in the mirror. I finally had a clear image of myself, a clearer image than I had had during all the time I could recall. The forest green silk gown had been made just for me. It brought out the pallor of my skin and gave me a delicate air. It fit all my curves perfectly, cut low and snug to my breasts, negating the need for a bra. Gauzy sleeves that fell over my hands softened my muscles. In all, I looked feminine, and, I had to admit, as intended, I looked like a sex object.
Mary's white dress emphasized her youth, white to contrast with the lovely golden brown of her flesh. White ribbons separated her tiny braids into pigtails. While I was barefoot and Joe wore boots, Mary wore knee stockings and Mary Jane shoes. Even after what Cyrus had done to her, Mary looked virginal. It was quite likely Cyrus had told the spectators she was.
For the pleasure of the crowd, Joe started with Mary. I was nothing but a prop.
The big bad man with the little girl was more enticing than the willing woman with a man she loved.
"Play the jealous lover, Lydia." Cyrus had told me. His smirk tempted me to punch him in the face and make him swallow his fangs. His eyes twinkled as though he'd caught my thoughts. "Shouldn't be hard while you're watching him stuff his cock into her tight little pussy."
In the arena, Joe wasted little time ripping Mary's clothes from her body. He laughed in her face when she cried out and feebly tried to stop him. All so easy, the tears, the anger. . . . The crowd saw what they wanted. They didn't need to know Joe was angry at being forced to hurt Mary or that Mary's tears were caused by her shame over not believing him when he'd seduced her. For all they knew, Mary had been captured recently. The exact date was on the program Cyrus had shown us before we'd entered the arena. I'd scored the fancy playbill for the date of my capture, my last name, anything . . .
Beneath my picture—taken at some point while I'd been bound in chains during the first "show"—was my first name and a list of preferred kinks. I'd shuddered when I gotten to blood play and skipped to Joe's bio. Apparently, he'd lost his mind, had become obsessed with sex, and was being trained by his masters in all manners of torture.
According to the schedule, Joe would display his new skills in a few weeks. On me. I was relieved to see Mary was being left out of that particular performance.
Tonight would be bad enough.
Joe told Mary to get on her knees. She screamed, calling out to me. Joe slapped her. I covered my mouth and bit my tongue so I wouldn't cry out for her. Joe looked like someone had just ripped his flesh off. Mary gave him a look, a brief one that only Joe and I could see. It held understanding. I knew Joe enough to know how much harder that look made what he had to do.
When Joe unzipped his pants and pressed his hard dick against her mouth, I had to look away. I heard him order her to open her mouth, heard him warn her to watch her fucking teeth. Mary's gagging brought my eyes back to them. Joe pulled her against him. He was having a difficult time staying hard, disgusted with the whole ordeal. I saw it in his eyes.
That was when he shouted for me to come over. He wanted me to kneel behind her and grab her breast. I did it. I took the opportunity to kiss her shoulder, to comfort her, hoping she'd know it would be over soon.
Joe told me to finger her, told me he wanted that virgin pussy nice and wet. It was my cue to protest. When I did, Joe slapped me and grabbed me by the hair. Mary let him fall from her mouth. I stared at him. The act fell apart.
We pulled it back together quickly. I bowed my head and shoved two fingers into her. Joe got his dick back in her mouth. I fingered her, imitating what Joe had done to me on my first night here, hoping to make things easier by getting her wet. I used my thumb to stimulate her clit.
I did it too well. Mary climaxed and cried out. Joe yelled over it to hide the sound as much as he could, telling me to try and breach her with my hand. I worked a third finger in, then a fourth. I slammed them into the oozing wetness of her so audibly the crowd started buzzing with excitement. Joe had pushed me away, hard, and knocked her onto her back. He ate her out, shoved his own fingers into her, and then told me he wanted me sucking her tits.
I did it. I did it, and I didn't stop until Joe told me to. I tried to be rough, but it just wasn't in me. Joe reminded me, twice, in a rough growl, to make it hurt. He'd said it again just before he drove his dick into her body. Mary arched back. I drew away. Then I'd bent down, whispering to her, telling her to find pleasure in the pain, telling her not to let it show. Joe had hit me. I fell to my side, and then I saw them. They looked confused. I realized why, far too late.
Why would the jealous, submissive girlfriend be so nice to her rival?
I tried to recover. Glaring at Joe, I grabbed Mary by the hair with one hand, then twisted a nipple with the other. I laughed in her face when she whimpered. Joe nodded with approval even as he lifted her legs to his shoulders, resting them there so he could go deeper. He told me to hike up my skirt and sit on her face.
I hesitated again. Not wanting to make things worse, I did as he said. Mary played her part well, and my body responded accordingly. We both came together.
Joe drew out of her and told me he was going to fuck me in the ass, with only her pussy juice as lube. Not needing to feign it, I protested. I remembered Cyrus taking Joe aside, giving him instructions that Mary and I hadn't heard. I had resolved to do whatever Joe asked, but I hadn't been expecting this.
He couldn't be gentle. I knew that. But knowing didn't soothe the intense pain when he forced himself past my body's resistance. He told Mary to suck my tits and finger me. With my eyes closed, the sensations helped. I relaxed against the hard thrusts in my ass and was able to find some pleasure in them. Mary kissed me when I climaxed, reciprocating my earlier comfort.
Then the crowd had screamed for an encore.
* * * * *
After the crowds left, we waited for the judgment. We waited to find out whether our performance had been good enough to allow us to live.
Cyrus came in, shaking his head, looking disappointed as he focused on Joe.
"Two beautiful girls and you couldn't get hard again, Joe? A pity, the act was worth a retake."
Joe wouldn't meet his eyes. I stepped forward to draw the attention to me.
"You said nothing of an encore, Cyrus. He fucked us both before he came. That has to count for something."
Cyrus slugged me with his big fist, and pain exploded in my cheek as
I dropped to the floor. Blood spilled from my busted bottom lip, and I held my hand over it, seething.
Laughing, Cyrus ran one finger under my chin and brought a drop of blood to his lips. "Sorry, Lydia. I just had to see that look again. You're very strong for a woman, even with that pretty, lithe form. You don't like it when you can't hit back."
Now Mary stepped forward. I wanted to pull her back. She had false hope that Cyrus's kindness meant something. She actually believed he'd spare her a little, and, in doing so, spare Joe and me.
"Cyrus, the crowd seemed happy. That's what you wanted, isn't it?" She tilted her head back and gazed up at him, entreating him for mercy he did not possess.
But, for a moment, even I was fooled.
Cyrus cupped her face in his palm. He nodded. "Yes, Mary. That is what I wanted." He pulled her against him. His hand slid down to his belt. "You did very well.
I caught the slips, but I doubt many did. It's a shame." He made a swift motion with his hand. Mary's eyes went wide. "You would have been worth keeping."
He stepped back, and Mary fell to the floor. I didn't understand at first what had happened. When I did, I screamed.
"No!" I dropped to my knees at her side. "No! Mary!"
The dagger had gone in and up. Mary clutched the hilt, trying to pull it out.
Without thinking, I pushed her hand away and drew it out. Joe dropped to his knees beside us. He ripped off a piece of her dress and pressed it against the gushing wound.
He glared at Cyrus. "Why? We did everything. She did everything! You had pleasure from her!"
Cyrus nodded, looking sad. "That I did. Unfortunately, there were repercussions to you trying to spare her some pain that I didn't foresee. It made her useless, I'm afraid."
Joe's brow furrowed. At a whimper from Mary, he eased her down, still holding the compress against her, desperately trying to stem the flow of blood that was covering her and pooling to the floor.
"They say it only takes once, Joe. I never believed it. I do now." Cyrus shrugged.
"I couldn't have her come between you and Lydia. Mary offered something you've always wanted, but knew you could never otherwise hope for again." He smiled at me now. I stared at him, dumbstruck. I didn't know what he meant. He decided to clear it up for me. "The dumb bitch got pregnant. Kids are fun, but it would have been years before her baby was useful. I'm just not that patient."
Joe lunged for Cyrus. I jumped up and grabbed him, knocking us both to the ground.
"I'll kill you for this! I'll kill you!" Joe fought against me.
Cyrus laughed. He grabbed me by the hair and pulled me against him, pressed another dagger against my throat. "Go ahead, Joe. There's a knife on the floor. Mary's blood is still on it. Avenge her. See if you can manage to do it before I kill Lydia."
Joe didn't move. Cyrus pushed me down to him.
"Come on. I'm bored with this." Cyrus motioned to the guards who waited by the door. "Let's get you back to your rooms. I want to find someone else to play with."
We were dragged down the long hallway and locked back in our room. Cyrus and the guards left Mary with us. Life stirred within her still. Joe carried her to the bed.
I sat at Mary's side.
With a strained smile, Mary looked up at me. "Lydia, do you remember that song?"
I forced a smile of my own. "Which one?"
Mary shifted against the bed, cringed, and pressed her hands to her stomach.
Blood seeped between her fingers, slowly soaking the sheets around her. "The Christmas one. The one about the shoes. It reminds me of my mother. She got cancer. It killed her. Right after Christmas." She drew in a deep breath. "Can you sing it to me?"
I didn't remember it all. But I remembered enough. "Okay." I inhaled deeply in preparation. A sob escaped me just before I started singing. I was at the chorus when she finally faded away. "Tell me, Sir, what am I going to do . . . ."
I cried out when Mary stopped blinking. Her eyes stared at me, stared into me, told me I'd failed her.
Chapter Ten
Nothing could have gotten us past Mary's death except the will to keep each other alive. That she'd be spared further pain was no consolation. She'd been a child, carrying Joe's child, and they'd killed her for it.
Two lives extinguished for nothing but their pleasure. It made me realize nothing we did mattered. Nothing. On a whim, they could decide to end either of us. I hoped they would decide to kill me first. Actually, I planned to make things turn out that way.
I knew I wasn't strong enough to survive Joe's death.
Sleep came, and, when we awoke, Mary's body had been taken away. The sheets had been changed and her blood cleaned from the floor. When I searched, I found her clothes were gone. It was as though she'd never been.
Something in my mind snapped. Red flooded behind my eyes. Screaming out, I grabbed hold of a chair and smashed it into the wall. Taking hold of the table, I tried to rip it from the bolts holding it to the floor. When it wouldn't move, I put my elbow through it. The melamine top split in two.
I kicked the second chair into the wall and then attacked the wall itself. I punched it, seeing Cyrus's face, not seeing my blood, which smeared on the wall as my flesh broke open with every jab against the unyielding surface.
Joe grabbed me. I was sure he had been ready just to let me go, let me handle my pain in my own way. It was the damage I was doing to myself he couldn't take. Right then, I didn't care. Lost in an all-consuming rage, I wanted to keep going until my blood turned the white walls red. It took all of Joe's strength to hold me still.
"Don't touch me! I hate you! I hate them! I don't want to do this anymore! Just let it be over!" I screamed the words over and over, trying to rip my hair from my scalp.
Joe clenched his muscles around me firmly, his hard breaths betraying the effort it took to subdue me. Suddenly, my strength left me. Joe lifted me up as I collapsed against him. "Don't say that." He slid down the wall and held me tight. "Don't say that.
You don't mean it." His voice broke, and he dropped his head back. "I couldn't take it, Lydia. Please don't give up."
His words reached something in me. Not concern for my life. I didn't care about living anymore. But his life. Could I really leave him alone for them to torment?
"Lydia, you have to be strong. If all you have left is your life, you have to fight for it. I promised I'd find a way." Joe was still trying to calm me, to soothe me.
My life? The words blurred in my mind. I'd forgotten what had given me the momentary will to survive. I shook my head. I didn't care anymore. "Don't make promises you can't keep."
"I haven't."
I laughed. "Then why not sooner? It's too late now. Much too late."
What passed through Joe's eyes then made me want to take the words back.
Trapped in my own pain, I'd selfishly lashed out at him. He was all I had left. I had to reassure him, somehow.
"We did everything they wanted. It didn't matter! The decision was already made!" I choked back my screams. Losing control again wouldn't help either of us.
Joe bruised my arms when he turned me, shaking me before he spoke. "Then you know, Lydia. You know nothing we did would have changed a thing."
I sobbed. "Joe, it hurts. Make it stop."
Surrendering the rage and allowing grief to take over was humiliating. The urge to let the cold fill me and push everything else aside rose inside me, as did the voice that told me I could not allow myself to be weak. I looked up at Joe.
In his eyes, I saw purpose and resolve. Sorrow lurked there as well, but some desire drove him to rise above the loss and keep fighting. Something kept him from giving up. I realized suddenly what that something was—me.
I didn't think Joe knew realized the potential weakness in himself. Cyrus understood. As long as Joe believed I needed him, he would want to live. But letting him believe I needed his support would be playing right into Cyrus's hands. Cyrus used Joe's desire to protect me against him.
I could take the power from Cyrus. I warmed to the idea, could almost picture Joe's rage unleashed on the monsters without concern for me holding him back. My fantasies built him up into a superhero. Logic prevailed, reminding me he was just a man. Cyrus was something more.
Without me, Joe was at their mercy. With me . . . . Nothing had changed.
Joe seemed to read my thoughts. "Swear to me, Lydia. Swear to me you'll give me a chance to keep my promise. Swear it, and I swear that we'll avenge Mary. That will help with the pain. Revenge is the sweetest form of justice."
I managed a small smile at that. "Sounds like you know something about justice."
Something dark and frightening passed through Joe's eyes. "I should hope so. It was my life."
His life. He never gave me more details, and I didn't ask for them. I couldn't give him anything from my past so his withholding details of his own life from me seemed fair. For the time being.
I noticed Joe watching me, expectantly, and realized I still hadn't given him my oath. It was important to him. My promise would be the last thread he could hold on to, because he had nothing left to hold onto in himself.
I had no problem giving him my word. But, first, I would extract a promise of my own. "I'll swear it, if you swear to me you won't try anything, that you'll continue as we have been, doing what we have to, until we come up with a plan that gets us both out of this alive."
Joe grinned. "I swear. And if you're good, I'll even let you take a few of them down, too."
I wrinkled my nose and stuck out my tongue. My gut twisted when it hit me that I'd forgotten Mary, that my spirit had been light, even though for only a second. I took a deep breath, clasped Joe's hand, and did as he'd suggested. I let thoughts of vengeance spark a flame within, one that would burn and wipe out the sadness that would hamper me, keep me from trudging on. "I swear too, Joe. But I gotta warn you, when I'm done there might not be a body left for you to take down." I grinned without guilt. To my mind, there was nothing wrong with finding joy in imagining the bloody justice I would exact in Mary's name. "I'll try not to be overzealous."
Deadly Captive Page 9
